Page 36 of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Catching Feelings #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

KAYLA

S EAN AND I ARE IN THE SAME BED.

I repeat: I am in a bed with my actual, literal, husband, to whom I am legally and lawfully wedded, till death do us part.

Or till I have residency.

Oof. That thought stings worse than a wasp.

Till death do us part. Let’s focus on that.

I slide under the covers first and Sean cuts the lights right before sliding in next to me.

And by ‘next to me,’ I mean he’s practically falling off the other side.

Neither Sean nor I are what you’d call pocket-sized. I may be lean, but I’m tall. And Sean is big and broad and deliciously burly, and there is no way we should be able to fit into a queen-sized bed without something touching.

Yet, here we are. Defying the laws of physics.

I’ve come to love this bedroom. It’s small, but not cramped, even if most of my clothes are still in storage at Tripp’s house.

And my work clothes are mostly in a garment rack shoved in the corner of my office at the stadium.

But it’s cozy, and since I bought sheets with an actual thread count, I sleep well.

Normally.

Tonight, I doubt I’ll sleep at all, and not because Sean’s here. But because he’s so obviously trying not to be.

It’s become so easy to feel married. We have a shared rhythm and have shared secrets.

We laugh and flirt and lean on each other like we’ve been doing it for years.

But something shifted earlier, and now, here in the dark, with space and silence hanging heavily in the air, it feels like we’ve taken two steps back.

Married, but not together.

“Cap, you know you’re allowed to be all the way in, right?”

The subtext was unintentional.

But hearing those words out loud makes my throat tighten, like someone’s cinched a belt around my lungs.

Sean shifts closer, but not all the way.

“Sean,” I say. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or hurt.

He’s been different since my family left.

Or maybe since right before, when I asked him if he wanted to go to Chicago with me.

Is he sensitive about me paying for things?

Have I underestimated how much he’s done out of duty these last couple of months?

When my family showed up, I felt like we were more real than ever. Sean and I laughed at my brothers’ dumb jokes; we caught each other’s eye after my mom said something unintentionally dirty and had to look away to keep from laughing; he kissed my temple after taking my plate to the sink.

It felt so real.

But maybe it’s not as real as I thought.

Maybe Sean’s been going along for the ride and I’ve forgotten I’m simply a detour.

I feel myself curling up, feel my stomach revolt against every ounce of food in it. I turn away from Sean, wishing I could shrink into nothingness?—

“Hey.” His hand lands on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, but it comes out like a whimper.

“Boss, unless you’re trying to tell me you always sleep in the fetal position, I’m gonna need you to tell me the truth.”

I roll over to face him, but only because his hand gently does the rolling for me. “I could say the same thing to you. What happened tonight?”

His sigh has a physical weight to it. “I got a call. From Otto.”

“What happened?” I ask, my own pain taking a back seat to whatever Sean’s going through.

“He invited me to an eval camp. If it goes well, Otto said they’ll offer me a three-year contract.”

“Three years? Sean, that’s amazing!” I sit up just enough so I can scoot over and throw my arms around him.

Except, he’s barely moving. He pats my arm, but he’s not reciprocating.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just a lot to process.”

“What is?”

“The chance to be chosen. Not just as a backup, but for real.”

“That’s a good thing! They see so much in you!”

“What about … what about us?”

My heart trips over the way he says us . And that poor, battered heart stays on the ground for a minute too long, not ready to get up yet.

What about us?

Was it a question? A regret? Was he offering me a choice or backing away from one?

How do I even respond?

“Don’t worry about us,” I tell him. “We have all year to figure it out.”

All year.

That’s what we agreed to. That’s all I have the right to ask for. Who cares that I want more years, maybe all the years? This isn’t about what I want right now. It’s about Sean. What he deserves.

“All year, huh?” he echoes, though his words sound a lot more final than mine.

I go the positive route. “Yes! This isn’t the time to worry about anything except this evaluation. When does it start?”

“Monday. It goes for three weeks.”

I’m glad it’s too dark for him to make out just how fake my smile is. “Perfect. Monday will be perfect. We’ll spend the weekend packing and making a plan.”

“A plan for what?”

He doesn’t sound bitter, but genuinely curious. But what does he mean by asking that? Is he wondering why I would want to make a plan at all?

“A plan for the next three weeks,” I say. “And whatever you want after that.”

“What if they want to sign me? You’d be okay with me being gone eight or nine months of the year?”

Nine months? “Wow. Yes! Of course!”

My mind fast forwards to lonely breakfasts and holidays in hotel rooms, if he can do holidays at all. I think about watching him on TV, about being on a field hundreds of miles away, watching a team—my team—and wishing I were watching him.

It makes my throat swell with pain.

But why?

I’m not a player or coach. I own the team. I can charter a plane whenever I want. I can take my family’s jet, if I really want to. This distance? It’s nothing.

If Sean doesn’t want it to be.

I put my hand on Sean’s beard, letting my fingers dig into the soft whiskers.

“Sean, I need to be honest: I love being with you, but I can handle it. I didn’t marry you to hold you back.

You deserve this. You’ve worked your whole life to get here.

And I’ll be at every game. Wearing your jersey.

Cheering you on. Heck, maybe I’ll even go full face paint. ”

He doesn’t crack a smile. “What if it hurts your case with the town? What if they say it affects your residency?”

“I don’t care. I’ll sue them into oblivion. But … are you really worried about that? Or are you having second thoughts?”

He stares up at the ceiling. I reach over to grab his arm, and I remember he’s not wearing a shirt.

That’s nothing new. It’s summer in the South. Even with air conditioning, it can get muggy, and his A/C isn’t exactly world class.

But as much as I’ve seen him shirtless in the month and a half we’ve been married, I haven’t been in bed with him shirtless. Because we’re not there yet.

I mean, we’re not there. Full stop.

Yet means we will be.

And yeah, just because the idea of this marriage ending makes my bones feel like jelly and my heart feel like it’s been flattened by a steamroller, doesn’t mean I’m letting myself think about the yet part.

Yet.

I can’t think about yet when I don’t know what comes next. When I’m lying here, worried about him walking away.

If he walks away?—

“Sean, talk to me,” I say, because I can’t let my head think these thoughts.

“I’m nervous." It’s so soft, I could almost think I’m dreaming it. “What if I mess up?”

“What if you succeed?” I counter. “What if you blow their socks off?”

“That scares me even worse.”

I hate knowing that he sees me more clearly than anyone ever has, and yet I have no idea what’s going on in his head right now.

“Why?” I whisper. “Help me understand.”

I reach for his face, cupping his cheek. His beard is soft and warm against my palm, and his breath tickles my wrist.

He closes his eyes for a beat. When he opens them, they’re shadowed but steady.

“I don’t know how to say it,” he says. I don’t respond, giving him space to process. “I feel like I should be excited but I don’t know how to let myself be. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

My heart aches. I want to tell him he doesn’t have to do anything with it. That I see him. That I understand more than he thinks, and everything I don’t understand, I’m willing to learn.

But I don’t say any of that.

Instead, I whisper, “Then I’ll be excited for you.”

He sniffs, a weak laugh. It’s not enough, but at least it’s something.

“Come here,” he says.

He shifts toward me, and I scoot toward him.

We don’t say another word.

But he clutches my hand between our chests, holding it like an anchor.

And slowly, like a tide drawing in, my heartbeat calms and Sean’s breathing slows.

This isn’t resolution.

It’s not clarity.

But it’s comfort.

And if that’s all I can get, I’ll take it.